


The 50th Hunger Games

by iloveeverlark



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 50th Hunger Games, Hunger Games, Quarter Quell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveeverlark/pseuds/iloveeverlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a detailed story of the 2nd Quarter Quell, the year Haymitch Abernathy was the victor. Told from his POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A mockingjay humming it's usual morning song awakes me from my slumber. My arm stretches out onto the night table beside my bed, and I clasp my fingers onto the rusty old watch that I bring to my eyes to read the time. 7:05 a.m.

Even though the reaping doesn't start until 2:00, I force myself out of bed. I glance over to the other side of the room, where my little brother, Luca, is sleeping quietly. I don't intend to wake him yet, since my mother will probably do so soon. Instead, I decide to go to the woods to gather food.

I walk into the only bathroom in our small Seam house. I change into a pair of worn-out jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a light jacket. I know I'll have to change later for the reaping, but I'll I'm going to do now is hunt. I slip out the back door, closing it quietly to ensure that the rest of my family stays asleep.

The fresh, crisp smell of the summer morning air wakes me up fully as I step outside. The first thing I do is check my mother's garden to see how much her tomatoes have progressed. They're growing fine, just not ready to harvest yet. I sigh and head for the woods.

Going into the woods of District 12 is technically illegal. But that doesn't mean a lot of people don't do it. Some decide not to take the risk, because it is punishable by death. But my name is in that reaping bowl 20 times today, so I can't say the odds are in my favour anyway.

The woods are protected by an electric fence that's torn apart and never running. I don't even bother putting my ear up to see if I can hear the soft buzz of electricity, because it hasn't been on for the past ten years. I've counted.

I crawl through a hole in the fence I've been using over the years. As I enter the woods, I draw my knife from my jacket by default. It's definitely not safe in the woods. Poisonous snakes, rabid animals, and no real path to follow. And you have to make sure you don't make much noise, because if you get caught, you're in deep trouble.

The first thing I see as I enter the woods is a brown squirrel scampering along the edge of a tree. I raise my knife, aim, and throw, taking down the squirrel easily. 

After about an hour of trekking through the woods, I decide to head back. I have one squirrel, one rabbit, a batch of wild strawberries and a few crabapples. This is considered a lucky day for me.

When I get back home, my mother, Elizabeth Abernathy, and my brother are already up.

"Hey," I say, setting down my haul from the woods. 

"Hey Haymitch," says my mother with a smile. "I see you were out in the woods today."

"Yeah. I got a squirrel, a rabbit, strawberries, and some crabapples." I say, shifting my feet. 

"Can I have a crabapple?" Luca pipes up from the table.

"Go ahead." I say. Usually I would've asked him to save it for later, but since this is the first year he's in the reaping for the Hunger Games, I decide to let him have it, to make him feel better.

My mother sets down breakfast on the table, which is blueberries from the garden, rolls from the bakery, and a few slices of cheese.

I grab a roll immediately. The Mellarks down at the bakery are the best bakers of all time. I bet their bread is even better than the Capitol's. 

After breakfast, I decide to take a nap. I'm not usually that big on naps, but since today is the day of the reaping and this could be my last nap in District 12 ever, I decide to do it.

My mother wakes me up about an hour before the reaping, telling me to get ready. Luca's sitting at the table, fidgeting with something in his hands, nervousness clouding pver his blue eyes. 

I end up changing into a nicer, dark-wash pair of jeans and a white button-up shirt. I ruffle my dark, somewhat curly hair until it looks alright.

"You look nice," says my mother as we prepare to go to the square. She's wearing a white dress with small floral designs on it. She kisses mine and Luca's cheek before we head out the door.

As we get to the square, one of the few decent places in District 12, people of ages 12 - 18 are already filing in. The oldest are at the front of the crowd, youngest at the back. Since I;m sixteen, I'll be near the middle but more near the front. Luca, who's twelve, will be at the back. This is his first reaping.

As I get to my designated place in the sea of kids, my eyes are locked on finding one person. I see her wavy blonde hair a couple rows behind me.

"Rose!" I whisper. She turns at the sound of my voice, her sea-blue eyes meeting mine.

"Haymitch!" She abandons the person she was talking to and wraps her arms around me. As much as she won't admit it, she's terrified of being chosen.

I give her a quick kiss before the peacekeepers silence everyone. As the mayor takes the microphone and begins to recite the history of Panem, I hold her hand, not only to reassure her, but myself.

When the mayor is done reading about Panem's history and the rules of the Hunger Games, he says something different. Something everyone already knows, but I assume that President Snow has asked him to remind us again.

"It is time for us to honour our second Quarter Quell. When the laws for the Hunger Games were declared, the Capitol dictated that every 25 years, the anniversary would be marked with a Quarter Quell. A Quarter Quell is a glorified version of the games, and with a rule change in the reaping."

Of course, we all know the rule change, since President Snow announced it on TV a week ago. The mayor clears his throat and continues.

"In honour of the second Quarter Quell, we state as a reminder that since two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district is required to send twice as many the tributes."

I can tell that almost every person in the square is trying to imagine what it would be like to face 47 other tributes instead of 23. If my name gets called, that's exactly what I'll have to do.

Then the mayor reads the list of past District 12 victors. And being the very unfortunate district that we are, there's only one. Chris Martinez. 

Chris Martinez is one of those really friendly guys that you can't really imagine would be capable of killing anyone. Chris won the 27th Hunger Games when he was around 15, and I guess his strategy was to sort of play the underdog. No one really expected him to make it that far, since he came from District 12, but once he got into the arena it turned out he was very handy with an axe. And he's not even from District 7.

Chris flashes a pearly white smile at the crowd and waves, acting as if he were on a Capitol TV show. He's in his mid-thirties, and has dark hair that's styled in a quiff. The Capitol adores him.

When the mayor's finally done talking, District 12's escort, Amber Marine, a small, talkative woman who has aqua hair and eyelashes to match, while her eyebrows are dyed a bright purple, takes the stage.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She announces in that annoying Capitol accent of hers, "and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

She goes on about how lovely it is to be here, in District 12, where 'coals turn to pearls'. I can't help but roll my eyes at that stupid Capitol statement, because it was used as a joke but some of the Capitol residents took it seriously.

"Let's get started, shall we?" She says in a bubbly tone reserved for people of a lower class than her. "As always, ladies first."

Amber Marine walks over to the bowl with all the girls' names in it. Rose's hand tightens around mine.

Amber reads the first name in a loud, clear voice. "Ashley Mcloud!"

Everyone watches as a trembling girl, around 14, crosses over to the stage to stand next to Amber. She has a fiery auburn hair colour, and she looks like one of those people who are very timid and don't like to talk much.

Amber reads out the second female tribute's name. "Maysilee Donner!"

I know her. I'm acquaintances with Maysilee Donner, and her parents own the sweet shop that my brother loves to visit. Bravely, Maysilee walks up to the stage and stands beside Ashley and Amber. Her light hair is swaying in the wind gently. No one volunteers.

"Lovely!" Exclaims Amber Marine. "Now, the gentlemen."

I hold my breath, hoping that it's not me or Luca. I hear the first male tribute's name.

"Thomas Waters!"

A small boy with black hair makes his way up to the stage. He looks about 12 years old, and his facial expression remains emotionless. Again, no one volunteers.

It's time for Amber to read the last tribute's name. I close my eyes, not wanting to watch her fish around in the bowl for twenty seconds. I'm wishing that it's not me. Or Luca.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

I told you the odds were never in my favour.


	2. Chapter 2

I look around me in disbelief as everyone in the square turns to stare at me. My heart is sinking lower and lower as the peacekeepers guide me on to the stage to stand beside Maysilee.

I look into the sea of people. I find my mother, who’s clutching onto Luca carefully and is wiping her eyes. Rose has a single tear running down her cheek. A few of my friends from school whisper to each other with sad, horrified expressions on their faces. And there’s nothing I can do except watch, and try as hard as I can to remain emotionless. I will not appear weak with all the cameras around, even though this is technically regarded as my death sentence.

I give my family one last look before the peacekeepers whisk us away, into the Justice Building. 

If Amber Marine had just shifted her hand slightly when calling the last tribute’s name, I wouldn’t be here. I would be at home, providing food for my family, graduating school, and eventually marrying Rose. But screw the odds, they’re never in my favour anyway. 

I know that the shock will hit me afterwards. It might not even hit me fully until I’m standing on the silver plate in the arena, while the Gamemakers count down to my death.

The peacekeepers lead me to a room in the Justice Building, where we’re supposed to say goodbye to our families. I hear a knock on the door of the room, which is opened by a peacekeeper.

“Haymitch!” My mother’s expression is washed over with grief, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. I throw my arms around her immediately. 

“It’s okay, Mom, I’ll be alright,” I reassure her, even though I’m lying to myself. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

I can tell she’s too in shock to say anything. So I just keep on hugging her, for the last time in my life. Then I turn to face Luca.

“You can do this,” he whispers. He’s the only person that actually has confidence in me. “Really. You’re smart, strong, and you can hunt.”

“I’ll try. I promise.” I whisper as he buries his face into my neck. 

He looks up, his blue eyes shining with hope. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

A peacekeeper barges into the room. “Next visitor,” he says gruffly.

I can barely make out a goodbye before the doors shut.

Apparently I have to wait a few minutes before my next visitor. I take the time to try and compose myself. The last thing I will do is cry, although it’s the first thing I feel like doing.

I head over to the window, watching everyone clear the square. I catch a glimpse of my mother, who has tears streaming down her face while being comforted by other families who ‘give their condolences.’ It’s like I’m already dead.  
The door suddenly bursts open and next thing I know, Rose in in my arms. She’s crying, and I stroke her long, blonde hair to comfort her.

“I’ll be okay, Rose.” I whisper. I’m about to say something else, but I’m cut off by her lips crashing against mine. She kisses me slowly, knowing it will be mine and hers last one.

“I honestly think you can do this,” she says, but her voice cracks. “You’re one of the strongest and smartest people I know. Promise you’ll try.”

Making this promise for the second time today, I whisper, “I will.”

As the doors open to take her away, I quickly kiss her on the forehead. 

Her “I love you!” is cut off as the door slams. Then it reopens again, but it’s just the peacekeepers taking me to the train that will lead me away from my home forever. 

The peacekeeper that escorts me to the train feels a bit sorry for me, I can see it in his eyes. Mine and Rose’s ‘love story’ is pretty much the typical one here in Panem. Two teenagers, hopelessly in love, crying in the Justice Building because one of them is being sent off to die in the Hunger Games. It’s sad, It’s tragic, but it’s very common.

Amber Marine greets me at the train, gesturing for me to sit down with the other tributes in the incredibly fancy Capitol – style train car. Diamond chandeliers dangling from the wall, silver platters filled with decadents, and royal blue wallpaper that gives a nice contrast to the deep velvet seats.   
My eyes immediately meet Maysilee’s. She’s probably the closest thing to a friend I’ll ever have on this train.

“Hey,” I sit down beside her on the velvet seats. It’s incredible how soft they are. And much too nice for a place like District 12. “I guess the odds weren’t in in our favour today.”

Maysilee and I share the same sense of humor, so we both laugh. Partly because it’s funny, but mostly because we have so little time in our lives left to make jokes.

“Yeah, especially with 48 of us.” She chuckles, and I can’t help but grin too. The other two tributes, Ashley and Thomas, are staring at us as if we’re crazy, probably wondering how on earth we find all of this funny. But we don’t. Not really, at least. We’re just trying to figure out a good way to distract ourselves. 

Amber Marine shuffles over to us. “What’s your name again, dear?” She asks me. 

I raise my eyebrows. “Haymitch Abernathy.”

She acts as if she didn’t read it over a loudspeaker fifteen minutes ago. “I don’t think that name suits you. I mean, I usually picture a ‘Haymitch’ as someone older, not someone young and good-looking like you.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Well, thank you. I guess I’ll never really have the chance to become old since I’ll be dead in a couple of weeks.” This shuts her up.

The rest of the train ride is a bit awkward since no one says anything. Ashley, Thomas, and Maysilee all grab food off of the silver platters, but I’m not hungry. I know I should probably put on a bit of weight before the Games, but even though I hear the Capitol food is delicious, the entire thing just seems sickening to me right now. 

Chris Martinez, the only victor from the glorious District 12, decides to join us. It must be stressful mentoring 4 kids who have no idea what they’re doing, because he’s holding a half-empty bottle of white liquor. 

“Hello, tributes from 12,” he says, smiling. “How’s your day been?”

We all stare at him. Obviously our day hasn’t been going very well. He must realize how stupid he sounds, because he’s about to say something else when Thomas pipes up. “What are your tips for us?”

Christ takes a small macaron from his plate and pops it into his mouth. “Stay alive.” Is all he says.

He’s acting like he doesn’t care that all his tributes will be dead soon. I feel a spark of anger. “That’s not real advice,” I snap.

Chris just laughs. “I was joking. Have a drink.” He says, offering me the bottle of white liquor. 

I stare at him. “I’m sixteen.” I’m beginning to wonder if he’s drunk.

“Right,” says Chris, placing the bottle down. “Sorry, I forgot. I’m not going to give you tips on how to stay alive right now, since I’m instructed to do that later.” He smiles and eats another macaron. 

Ashley speaks up, for the first time. “Then why are you right now?”

“Because I have to be,” he says. “And if any of you don’t win, I’ll have to do that for the rest of my life.” He stands up.

I roll my eyes. “We’re all going to die if you don’t give us advice.”

“Like I said, that’s for later,” he’s walking to another car. “See you then, Haymish!” He yells as he steps out. 

“It’s Haymitch!” I yell back. Maysilee giggles. 

“I think he did that on puropose.” she says. 

“Whatever,” I say, and suddenly I feel the urge to get up and find another car to take a nap in. I go the opposite way Chris did, not wanting to encounter him. 

I find a room that has a couple of velvet chairs and one gigantic couch. I stretch out on it, make myself comfortable, try to fall asleep on it. 

As I’m beginning to doze off, I hear an unfamiliar voice. 

“You shouldn’t be sleeping, we’re almost at the Capitol.”

I open my eyes and turn around. A girl with strawberry blonde hair, around 12 years old, is staring at me. 

“Who are you?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.

“Effie Trinket,” she says. “Amber’s my mom. She said that I should wake you up because we’re almost at the Capitol.”

“Don’t you live in the Capitol?” I ask warily.

“Yeah, but I asked my mom if I could come with her to District 12. I’m most likely going to be the next escort, so if you win, you’ll be stuck touring with me for the rest of your life.”

I laugh with exhaustion. “I’m afraid you don’t have to worry about that.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Capitol turns out to be an amazing place, but with sick nature. It's in the prettiest part of Panem, built in a region of snow-topped mountains once named the Rockies. Skyscrapers line the horizon, and surrounding the city is the beautiful ocean, which reflects the bright sun in shimmers.

Once we get off of the train, the first place we're sent is the Remake Center, which is a big building committed to making all the tributes somewhat attractive. 

Every tribute is assigned their own prep team that gives them a "makeover." Amber introduces me to my prep team. All three of them look so strange, with their manufactured and surgically altered features.

"Let's get to work, shall we?" says a woman in my prep team named Kristina. Her skin is a frosty white with dyed hair, eyelashes, eyebrows and lips to match. She and the other two lead me to a room with more beauty products and tools I could ever have imagined. 

They start by removing all the dirt from my body, scrubbing my arms and legs with some substance that smells like vanilla. Then they buff out my skin, using a high-tech Capitol formula that erases any imperfections like scars, blackheads, and extra dirt - making you look so flawless you feel as if you've been photoshopped.

They file my nails down to the perfect size, and then move on to my hair. They style it into almost a quiff, (which I would usually dislike), but it's more low-key, and has a more messy vibe to it. Then they hand me a robe and tell me to go wait in the other room for my stylist.

As I'm walking to the room, I catch a glimpse of myself in a standing-up mirror. My skin is as smooth as marble, with no flaws. My eyebrows have been brushed into better shape and my dark, thick hair looks so effortlessly done even though it took forever. I look what I would've looked like if I had been raised in the Capitol. Nothing like myself. 

I wait in the room for about five minutes before my stylist enters. He's a young, tall man with many ear and nose piercings. His hair and eyebrows are dyed a deep blue, and he introduces himself as Carlo in a dainty Capitol accent. 

"So, District 12, huh," he says as he paces around me. "Coal mining. Your costume at the chariot event tonight is supposed to reflect your district."

I force myself not to roll my eyes for like the third time today. I know where this is going. 

"We are going to represent the hard work your district does for the Capitol. And who does the hard work? Miners," he says matter-of-factly, as if I didn't know this myself. "So that's what we're going to make you. A coal miner. But with a bit more fashion sense." He says, and laughs lightly. 

"My father was a coal miner." I say thoughtfully. "But he's dead now. There was a big explosion that blew him and his friends to bits."

Carlo acts like he hears this kind of news every day. "Unfortunate," he says, not looking up. "Make sure you honour him during your chariot ride."

In a few hours, we're all dressed up in coal miner outfits (of course) but with a tighter fit and much cleaner looking. This is the very overdone, traditional District 12 costume look that the Capitol stylists seem to think is fabulous. Nobody from 12 does, though, since practically everybody in 12 knows somebody that has been killed in the mines. 

Maysilee, Thomas and Ashley show up, dressed identically. 

"Ugh, we're coal miners again," Maysilee whispers to me. "It's so repetitive, isn't it?"

I laugh quietly, not wanting to be overheard. "At least we're not dressed like them." I say, pointing towards the tributes from District 4, who are all dressed in scaly fish costumes, looking rather embarrassed. 

Maysilee bites her lip as she tries to hide her chuckle. "Well, if you put it that way."

"And they're Careers," I say. "Usually they're the ones who have decent costumes."

Maysilee giggles. "I'm no fashion expert, but their stylists really screwed up."

Nervousness of the upcoming games actually has us talking about fashion, one of the last things in mind in District 12. Is this what spending one day in the Capitol does to you? I'm about to say something else to Maysilee when Carlo walks over. 

"Alright, positions, District 12!" He says, clapping his hands. "Ashley, Thomas, Haymitch, Maysilee -" he counts on his fingers - "great, you're all here. Didn't want to lose any of you."

I smile. "Just wait another week." I say to him.

"Haymitch!" Amber nudges me angrily. "Manners!"

Carlo pretends he didn't hear anything. "Now, I want you guys to smile and wave. Make sure the crowd doesn't overlook you. Be proud you come from District 12, and just be yourselves. Only happier." He adds.

Carlo does small touch-ups to Maysilee and Ashley's makeup. They're wearing simple black eyeliner, winged out on the sides, and gold lipstick. He briskly walks over to me and Thomas, and dusts a bit of powder on our faces. "So your faces are camera ready and shine-free." He says with a smile and then walks away with an excited stride.

Amber stands with her 12-year old daughter, Effie, who's staring at me. As my eyes meet hers, she suddenly looks away, as if embarrassed. I shrug and turn my attention back to Carlo, who whisks me and the other tributes away to take our places in the chariots.

I hear the Panem national anthem, and I know that District 1 is currently riding out into the city. Being the district of luxury, they're probably dressed in fancy jewels or silky, rich outfits. They're always a crowd favourite. 

The four of us are guided up into our chariot, led by coal black horses that are so well-trained they don't need to be guided down the city. The rim of our chariot is lined with a garland of fresh white roses, President Snow's touch. 

Carlo reminds us for like the 50th time. "Chins up, smiles on! Wave, and make sure they remember you!"

I don't know exactly how they're going to remember us if we're dressed up as the same thing each year, but I go along with it.

Chris appears out of nowhere, holding a delicate glass of champagne. "Now, this is your time to attract sponsors. Listen to what Carlo's saying. Make them like you." He pauses. "The more sponsors you have, the better chance you have of surviving."

District 11 rides out into the city circle, dressed in some farmer's getup. That means it's our turn to go next. 

"Good luck!" Calls Amber from the sides, just before we ride out. I take a deep breath, plaster a fake smile on my face, and the horses begin to move.

As we enter the city circle, it's nighttime, so you can see the outline of all the city lights. The anthem has been on repeat for about 10 minutes. I glance at the crowd, and it's like an instant pop of colour. A sea of surgically enhanced features, coloured wigs, and questionable clothing. Although the sight sickens me, since they're cheering us on to our death, I break out my fake smile and wave, because I know that Carlo will give me hell if I don't. I even end up catching a rose, and throwing it back into the crowd. The spot where I throw it gives delighted shrieks and sounds of admiration. 

The 12 chariots start to fill up the city circle, right outside President Snow's mansion. Our horses pull right up next to District 11, and the music ends with a flourish.

President Snow, a thin man with snake-like eyes and snow-white hair, welcomes us.

"Welcome, tributes of the second Quarter Quell." He pauses to let the crowd cheer. "The Capitol and I honour your bravery, and your courage to participate in the 50th annual Hunger Games." The crowd cheers again.

And that's it. We parade around the city circle one more time, until our chariots disappear into the bottom of the Training Center.

Carlo, Amber, and Chris greet us. "Well done," says Chris, taking a sip of his beverage. "And nice thing with the rose there, Haymitch. Along with your looks, it made the crowd love you."

"Thank you." I say quietly. All I can think about is Rose, and how she probably watched that moment on TV.

We're lead back into the Training Center, a building that has a big tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams. It has 12 floors, one for each district. This will be our home until the Games begin.

We take the elevator up to the 12th floor. It's made of crystal and you can see everyone beneath you shrink like ants. I'm tempted to ride again but then I remember I'll be going up and down all day tomorrow.

As Maysilee, Ashley, Thomas, Carlo, Amber, Chris and I enter our suite, I'm immediately blown away.

If I thought our train car was fancy, I was mistaken. We're in the penthouse suite, so one half of the room is all window, giving us a view of the entire Capitol, the bright city lights illuminating the room. The walls are a royal blue, with detailed abstract paintings hanging in different places. The dining table is a clear crystal glass, decorated with flowers of a variety of colours. The chairs are a deep mahogany, with fancy details carved into them.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Amber exclaims as she strides into the room, turning to us. "And since you're from 12, you get the penthouse view! Not even the Careers get to stay somewhere this nice."

I enter my assigned quarters, which is enormous. It's again, very fancy, and filled with about a hundred different gadgets. One of them is a gigantic menu and a small microwave oven. All you need to do is type in what you want from the menu, and it appears in front of you in less than a minute, hot and steamy. On one side of the wall is a big screen that lets you zoom into different parts of the city, or even the forest, only with the touch of a remote. There's a bunch of different buttons in the shower that lets you choose the water temperature, what scent you want your shampoo to be, different soaps, oils, scents, sponges - you name it.

I'm about to explore the closet when amber calls me. "Dinner's ready!"

I walk out into the main suite, and everybody's already at the table. On a big platter is roast beef, asparagus, mushroom soup, mozzarella slices cut as thin as paper, and some fancy salad.

As I sit down and grab some roast beef and a bowl of steaming mushroom soup, I'm offered some red wine. What is it with the Capitol and alcohol? I don't refuse it, though, since I'll never get another chance.

After dinner, the wine has me feeling a bit dizzy, so I lay down in the big, comfy bed in my quarters - and fall sound asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When I wake up, the first thing I do is check the time. At home, I would have to look at a rusty watch, but in the Capitol they have electronic clocks that tell the time right before your eyes. 6:32 a.m.

Although it's early, I decide to force myself out of my bed since I want to start training as early as I can. I don't really care about training with the other tributes, since I don't really want to form any alliances. Mainly because if I befriend them, I know they'll get killed. Or vice versa.

I walk to the gigantic closet in my quarters and find that my training outfit has been laid out beneath the closet. It's black pants and a black shirt, with the number 12 on the back of the t-shirt and on the sides.

Changed, I walk out into the main area of our suite. The only people up are Ashley, who's sitting at the table drinking orange juice, and Amber, who's eating breakfast with her daughter Effie Trinket.

I silently begin to peel a banana at the table, sitting across from Effie. She's reading some book, and her blonde hair is done up in a fancy braid. She doesn't acknowledge me.

"Hello, Haymitch," Amber greets me, looking up from her breakfast. Her hair today is a shiny gold that sparkles each time she turns her head. "You're supposed to be at Training this morning."

"I know, I'm heading there right now." I say, eating the last bit of my banana. I throw the peel in the garbage and stand up.

Amber tells me that it's okay to go to the Training Center right now, even though it's early. 

I already know where the actual training part of the Training Center is, because we were given a tour last night. All you have to do is ride the fancy crystal glass elevator, press ‘B’ (for basement) and you’re there.

When I get there, only District 5 is there. They’re working at the camouflage station, painting on themselves to fit in with their surroundings. I head straight for the knife-throwing section, because it’s my best skill that I want to improve before the Games.

I grab a knife and walk towards the target, about 20ft away. I aim, and throw. I miss the red dot in the middle of the target by an inch. I grab another, aim more carefully, and hit the center of the target right on the nose.

Fifteen minutes later, I am joined by Maysilee and Thomas. 

I know I said I wouldn’t make alliances. But Maysilee’s my friend, so I decide to talk to her.

“Hey,” I say as I walk up to her. “I w –“

She cuts me off. “I saw you throw those knives over there. You were really good, could you teach me?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Only if you teach me archery properly.”

“Okay,” she leads me over to the archery station. There’s about 50 different bows with different gadgets on them, and then there’s a few basic ones. To my surprise, Maysilee grabs the simplest looking one there, a beautiful silver recurve, strung with a simple black stretchy thread.

There’s a few targets that are 50ft away. Starting close, Maysilee grabs the arrow out of her quiver hung over her back. Drawing it back to her cheek, she gets the arrow into a steady position and releases, hitting the very center of the target.

“You’re good,” I say, stepping towards her. “Can I try? I’ve done it a few times before.”

“Sure,” she says, handing me the bow and slinging the sheath of arrows over my back.

I try to copy what Maysilee did, putting my feet shoulder-length apart and drawing the arrow back to my cheek as an anchor point. I aim, release, and hit almost near the center but not quite.

“Nice job,” she says, coming over to me. “Now could you teach me to throw knives?”

A few hours pass, and I’ve been switching from survival skills to combat and weapons. Right now I’m tying knots, doing my best to copy what’s being shown on the screen. I steer clear of making allies with the other tributes, since I wouldn’t really want anyone to be my ally except for Maysilee. Even though if it did come down to the both of us, I couldn’t kill her if I tried. I’m sure the same goes for her.

I look around at the Career tributes. Of course, they’re all handling the deadliest-looking weapons like they’ve been doing it all their life. They’re all well-fed, and you can clearly see their muscles through their shirts. One girl with long blonde hair, from District 1 I think, is swinging around an ax as if it weighs nothing, clearly trying to intimidate the other tributes. But they don’t really scare me. I know I’m underfed, but I won’t let that get in the way from me trying to win this. For Rose, and for Luca.

The next day of training I try to focus on all the survival skills, from learning what plants are poisonous to how to make a basic snare. The trainer tests me, reciting a bunch of plants and berries and asking me which ones are poisonous. 

On the third day of training, all of the tributes are called for their private sessions with the Gamemakers. They call by district, starting with District 1, and then moving up. As usual, District 12 goes last.

All 48 of us sit in a big room, waiting for our names to be called. Nobody really speaks, except for a few Careers boasting to one another. They finally get to District 12, and Thomas is called first. He’s trembling as he walks to the room that we’ll be tested in.

Chris had told us to show the Gamemakers our biggest strengths when we’re being tested. For me, that’s throwing knives. Or just throwing anything heavy in general, but I doubt they’ll have big weights in there. 

It’s down to me and Maysilee when my name is called. I get up. “Throw straight,” says Maysilee with a smile.

“Thank you,” I say, and although I don’t feel like smiling, I still flash a small one. Something flitters across Maysilee’s face for a second, as if she wanted to say something else, but she quickly looks down at the floor.

I cautiously walk into the assessment room, looking at all the Gamemakers, who are having a big feast on a balcony overlooking the room. They’re mostly drunk, as you can tell my their slurred laughs and statements about the tributes.

They don’t notice me slip into the room, so I stand in front of them for about two minutes until I finally decide to speak up.

“Haymitch Abernathy,” I announce myself so they know I’m here, “District 12.”

Their attention turns to me. “Go ahead.” Says the head Gamemaker whose name I forget.

I quickly glance around me. There’s a set of knives laid out perfectly on a table in front of me, so I head there. My fingers trace around the edges of the knife I pick up, and I grip the handle, walk over to the target, aim, and throw.

I end up making a pretty decent shot, hitting the center of the target as usual. The Gamemakers look impressed, although they don’t have the expression I want them to have. I want them to remember me. I notice a few 150 pound weights and a shelf of spears, so I grab the weight easily, hoping the Gamemakers take note of my strength, and hoist it over my head, launching it at the shelf of spears, sending them crashing to the ground. This certainly surprises them.  
The head Gamemaker grins at me, as if he’d been waiting for me to do this all along. “You may go now, Mr. Abernathy.” He says with a slight slur.

Half an hour later, and Ashley, Thomas, Maysilee, Chris, Amber, Carlo, Effie and I are all in our suite, watching Caesar Flickerman, a Panem show host, read out all of the tribute’s scores. It takes quite a bit of time, and only a few stand out in my head. The girl from District 1 with the ax pulls a 10, which nobody is really surprised since she’s a Career. A twelve-year old girl from District 5 with olive skin pulls an 8, which is really surprising since she’s so small. 

Finally, Caesar comes to District 12. Ashley manages to pull off a 7, which isn’t so bad considering her small size, and Thomas gets a 6. Then it’s down to Maysilee and I.

Since boys are called first, Caesar reads out my name. “From District 12, Haymitch Abernathy, with a score of,” he pauses and grins at the camera. “10.”

Everybody cheers and toasts to my score. Nobody from an outline district has gotten a double-digit score in years. Maybe the Gamemakers made a drunken decision, I don’t know. But I’m still a bit proud of myself.

Maysilee gets a 9, which is also really good. I suspect she did archery for them, which she wouldn’t fail to impress anyone with that.

After TV, we’re sent straight to bed, since tomorrow is our last day before the actual Games. I order a fresh loaf of puffy French bread from the microwave oven gadget, and nibble on it while pacing around my room for half an hour. This is what I do when I’m stressed out, and even though the Games aren’t tomorrow, I know I’ll be in that arena within the next 48 hours. Which scares me to death.

I finish my bread, and change into my pajamas. I climb into the silky sheets, laying my head on the fluffy Capitol-style pillows and think of tomorrow. Tomorrow is our interviews with Caesar Flickerman, and I’m going to spend the entire day with Chris and Amber working out what my interview style will be and how to behave when you’re on TV. I soon become drowned in my thoughts of the interviews, the Capitol, the Games, and everything that has happened since the reaping. Which causes me to fall asleep, dreading the next day.


	5. Chapter 5

Chris has decided to “coach” us all separately before our interviews. He starts with Ashley, then Thomas, then me. So I suspect Maysilee will be last.

When I walk into the room, Chris is already there, sitting on a chair. I sit down opposite him and we stare at each other for a while. 

Chris finally speaks after studying me for about a minute. “So, Haymitch,” he says, still watching me closely as if I’m going to attack him at any second. “I need to figure out how to present you tonight.”

“Present me?” I say indifferently.

“Yeah. Like what personality we have to come up for you. Funny, humble, witty? I need to know.”

“I’m probably just as clueless as you are.” I say warily.

“Look. You’re attractive,” he says, and I raise my eyebrows. “Which is a trait we could use during your interview and even in the arena. Play it up with the audience, especially the ladies.”

I frown. “So you want me to come off as sexy or something?”

“Sort of.” He says. I open my mouth to object immediately, but he cuts me off. “Trust me. The Hunger Games isn’t a beauty contest, but a lot of times your looks get you sponsors.” I must have a strange look on my face because he says, “it’s a Capitol thing. They always want their victor to be attractive, so that’s who they tend to sponsor most. Use charisma.”

“That could work,” I say, and as much as I hate the idea of acting sexy, it might be a life-saving strategy. “But what’s my actual personality going to be like?”

I can tell that Chris is thinking out loud when he speaks. “Maybe you could act a little arrogant.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “The Capitol likes arrogance?”

“Somewhat. They admire it, especially in a tribute.” He says. “It comes off as confidence to them.”

For the next few minutes, Chris pretends he’s interviewing me. I try to answer almost seductively, with a bit of arrogance and a touch of humor. Chris asks me about how I feel since there’s 47 other tributes instead of 23, and I reply with some humorable but arrogant answer that really pleases him. 

“Good!” he says, clapping his hands together. “Your personalities are arrogant and charismatic, but also a bit humorous. The Capitol will love you.”

“So now do I have to see Amber for her to teach me how to act on live television?”

“Nah, that’s mostly for the girls. To teach them how to walk in high heels and stuff. Plus, we’re almost out of time.”

I wait in the main part of the suite with Ashley and Thomas to wait for Maysilee.

When she comes out, she has a tired but also satisfied look on her face as she takes a seat beside me. “Hey,” I say. “So what’s your TV personality going to be?”

“Kind of witty,” she says with a shrug. “Like, intelligent. But just likeable in general, I guess.” She pauses. “What’s yours?”

I laugh. “Chris wants me to seduce the audience into getting sponsors.”

A grin breaks out on her face and she tries to hider her smile. “So you’re going for sexy?”

I nod my head, smiling at the stupidity of it all. The interviews, the Hunger Games, the Capitol, everything. “Yep,” I say. “And arrogant, too. But a bit humorous.”

She laughs “I could picture that.”

I start laughing even harder. “You think I’m attractive?” 

Maysilee realizes what she said, and goes a little red. But she lets out a small laugh, too. “If I’m being real, then yeah. But Haymitch, the entire Capitol thinks that. Which gets you sponsors.”

The aftermath of the laughing has left my face etched in a small grin. “I don’t know.”

Without warning, Carlo then strides into the room, whisking us away to our prep teams to prepare for the interviews.

They work on me for hours, buffing out my skin again and erasing any imperfections. They use a variety of products on my skin that literally makes it glow radiantly. They clean and file my nails, polishing them with some sort of scrub that makes them as smooth as marble. Then they move on to my hair, running product through it and making it have that effortless effect that actually takes so long to do. They apply touches of highlighter to mimic where the light would actually hit my face.

My outfit of the night is a simple grey suit with a white button up shirt underneath. Carlo greets me in the dressing room when my prep team is finally done with me. 

“Chris said that your TV personality is arrogant, humorous and a bit seductive,” he says, eyeing me up and down. “You obviously won’t have much trouble with that. The crowd will love you. Especially the ladies.”

I catch myself in a mirror, and I can see where Chris and Carlo were going with this. My skin glowing, my hair effortlessly done, my simple suit, I look the best I’ve ever seen myself.

The other tributes from 12 appear at my side. Ashley is wearing a flowy red dress that’s only a few shades darker than her braided silky hair. She does look quite pretty, I’ll admit. Thomas is wearing a navy blue suit and a black tie hangs around his neck. And Maysilee… she looks beautiful in a simple black jeweled dress that hugs her curves. Makeup is applied lightly to her face, only enhancing her features. Her dirty-blonde hair falls in sheets of soft curls around her, and a gold pin that has a bird – a mockingjay, I think – is pinned to her dress.

All 48 of us tributes line up, starting with District 1. We’re all backstage, and I can hear the Capitol-style music that announces Caesar Flickerman has now taken the stage. 

The blonde girl from District 1 with the ax – Alessandra, someone calls her – is called to the stage. She struts out in a shimmering silver dress, waving to the crowd. I can tell her mentor didn’t have any trouble coming up with a strategy for her – she’s confident and fierce, and it’s evident in the way she walks and speaks.

I try to make mental notes of most of the tributes, but only a few stick out in my head. A giant boy, probably around 6’5, from District 2, turns out to be a killing machine with zero personality except for that. Caesar even asks him, “what are you looking forward to in the arena?” And his response was literally “to kill people.”

The 12-year old girl from District 5, the one who managed to pull an 8 in her assessment, turns out to be a bit more fierce than I expected. Apparently she’s very fast and skilled at throwing spears, which is what I assume she performed for the Gamemakers.

A sly, cunning girl with black hair from District 7. A sickly-looking boy from District 9 with gray eyes. A cocky, snarky sounding boy with lots of freckles from District 11. Those are a few I really notice.

Which leaves us to the 12th district. Ashley is called on to the stage, and she takes a deep breath before Caesar greets her. It’s clear that Chris wanted her to appear cunning, but also slightly mysterious. She answers each question with a simple answer, and quickly.

Thomas then proceeds to the stage once Ashley’s buzzer goes off. He’s definitely shy, and doesn’t talk much like Ashley. Caesar eases him into answering and relaxing him, making his weak answers seem crowd-pleasing. That’s a talent of his.

The next thing I know, Thomas’s three minute buzzer rings and I’m called to the stage. As I step out, I’m immediately overwhelmed by the applause of the crowd and it makes me feel a bit dizzy. Caesar guides me to my chair, and I just manage to catch his first question as I’m staring at the crowd.

“So, Haymitch, what do you think about the Games have one hundred percent more competitors than usual?” He says, smiling.

Arrogant. Think arrogant. But also humorous. And seductive? How am I supposed to combine those? But I answer, flashing my best arrogant smile, “I don’t think that it will make much of a difference. They’ll still be one hundred percent stupid, as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same.”

The Capitol eats it up, laughing as if I’m the best comedian that’s ever walked the earth. Caesar gives a warm laugh, too. “If you say so. Now, tell me, how is the Capitol? What’s your favourite part?”

I think about this for a minute. “Well, they have amazing food. And really cool gadgets in our suite.”

“Ah, yes, our food is to die for, right folks?” Caesar turns to the crowd and laughs, making them echo it. 

I didn’t realize how short our interviews were until I finally lived them. As my buzzer goes off, and I exit towards backstage, I hear the crowd, particularly women, shouting my name, trying to get my attention. I smile and wave until the I’m out of sight.

Maysilee’s asked very similar questions, and she answers them with an intelligence only she can muster up. I can’t help but admire her natural confidence, the way she answers each question with ease until her buzzer goes off and the lights of the live show finally go out. 

A few hours later, I’m in my quarters, pacing around the room with a bottle of liquor. In Panem, you have to be 20 to legally drink, but my server let me off easy since this is one of the last days of my life and he probably feels sorry for me.  
I end up drinking one whole bottle of white liquor, not bothering to even pour it into glasses. I guess this is my way of coping with dramatic stress and such. Oh well.

I don’t want to head into the arena completely hungover, as I’m already drunk as it is, so I slam the bottle down on my dresser and tiredly change into pajamas and climb into bed for the last time. In less than 24 hours, I’ll either be dead or sleeping under the stars. And it’s my guess that I’ll be dead. Maybe that’s just the effect of the alcohol in my system, but I know that if I do come back, I’ll never be the same.


	6. Chapter 6

That morning, I do not need to be woken up. My nerves do, and I spend the entire early morning pacing around the suite when no one else is up. The cloudiness in my head from my alcohol breakdown last night is finally wearing off. My team would be furious if I walked into the Games hungover.

I check the clock, and it's 4:30 a.m. I decide to head to the balcony to get some fresh air. Not that I won't get enough of that already in the arena today.

The cool morning air rushes past my face as I step outside, where the night lights are still sparkling. Nobody in this city is up.

I look down from our 12th story skyscraper, and I see the dead streets beneath me. It's like a ghost town, with 2nd Quarter Quell flags that line the streets rippling in the early morning breeze. For a moment I think about jumping, but that would be no use. I had promised Rose and Luca that I would at least try to survive, for them. But if I didn't have anyone at all that I cared about, I might've. I'd rather die like that then play a stupid part in the Capitol's Hunger Games.

For good measure, and to show that I am angry, I grab a small vase off one of the balcony tables and chuck it off the balcony, in to the streets of the Capitol. 

I have to duck when it comes shooting back at me. It crashes into the wall behind me, shattering into a million shards. This takes me by surprise.

The glass door slides open, and Maysilee comes out. "What was that?" She asks, rubbing her eyes.

"Did you see that?" I ask, eyes wide, pointing to the broken pieces of glass. "I threw it off the balcony and it came right back at me."

"Oh, yeah," says Maysilee with a yawn. "There's a forcefield. It's meant for tributes that try to commit suicide. It just brings them right back up." She pauses and frowns. "Why did you throw a vase, Haymitch?"

"I was angry," I answer warily. "I'm sick of playing a part in these Games. I just want it to be over."

"Me too," she says, taking a seat beside me. "Have you wondered what the arena's going to be like?"

"It's going to be interesting, that's for sure," I say, staring at the shards of the glass vase on the floor. "I just hope it's not going to be like the 25th year. My mom told me about it, it was brutal."

The 25th Hunger Games, the 1st Quarter Quell, was the only indoor Games. It was held in an abandoned asylum, and all the doors were locked so there was no escape to the wilderness. It turned out that some of the old patient's bodies were still in the building, which a few tributes passed out from the sight. The victor ended up having to be confined to a real mental illness hospital because it was so horrifying.

"Yeah," she says, "but I think it's going to be outdoors this year, or else they wouldn't have quizzed us on what plants were poisonous or not." She says thoughtfully. 

"I guess," I say. "I just... I mean, I want to win, bit I don't too. Because I know that if I win, I'll never be the same."

"None of the victors are," says Maysilee. "Half of them suffer from PTSD and half of them have drinking problems. It scars you, being in the arena."

"That's partially why I don't want to win. I don't want them to change me."

...............................................................................................................................................................................

Later that morning, I’m escorted to the hovercraft by Chris. I don’t see Maysilee, Ashley or Thomas before that, which is probably a good thing since at least one of us will be dead within the next few hours. 

As I climb into the futuristic looking hovercraft with Chris, a very brisk woman in a white jacket approaches me, holding a syringe. “I need to put this in your arm.” She says. I must look confused because she says, “it’s your tracker. To make sure the Gamemakers don’t lose you in the arena.” I slightly wince when the sharp stabs of pain creep up my arm as the metal device is launched deep into my skin. Now the Gamemakers will be able to know my whereabouts and watch my every move until I die. 

As we fly to the arena, Chris leads me to a room where breakfast is already laid out for me. I don’t feel like eating at all because of the severe tension that’s knotting up my stomach due to the nerves, but I force some blueberries down my throat. Then I change into the tribute outfit that’s been laid out for us, which is a simple black t-shirt, tight green cargo pants, and a light black jacket with a hood. We’re given soft leather boots that have soles made for running. 

I glance out the windows, which have now become black since we’re close to the arena and they don’t want any of the tributes to get a sneak peak. 

Chris sits down beside me. “How are you feeling, Haymitch?”

Of course he asks me this, because I probably look crazy staring out the pitch-black windows for the past five minutes with a blank look on my face that won’t go away. 

My voice trembles as I speak. “I-I’m fine.” I whisper. I do a terrible job of lying to myself, and Chris knows it too.  
“Listen, Haymitch,” Chris says, looking me very steadily in the eyes. “You’re fast, so I suggest running for the cornucopia. But fast. There’s going to be knives, so grab them if you can. I would also recommend a backpack.” He pauses. “Usually I would tell my tributes to avoid the cornucopia, but the ones I have faith in are the ones I tell to run for it.”

“Okay.” My voice is barely a whisper.

As the hovercraft lands, Chris and I are lead to a place underneath the arena called the Launch Room. In the districts, they call it the Stockyard, the place where animals go before slaughter. It’s this room with white walls and a cylinder glass tube, which rises me into the arena. 

“I’d say the arena will be a woodland or a valley, considering your somewhat normal outfit,” says Chris, eyeing me. “Since this is a Quarter Quell, the arena will be far more dangerous. Expect deadly twists and turns.”

“Well, I didn’t expect the arena to be amazing anyway,” I retort, but I can’t hide the anxiety in my voice. 

A robotic female voice booms over the intercom of the room. “Thirty seconds to launch.”

“Thank you Chris, for everything.” I say, patting him on the back. “I’ll try to win so that you don’t have to keep mentoring for the rest of your life.”

“Well, I’d bet on you if I could,” says Chris, but he’s cut off by the voice on the intercom telling us I have ten seconds to get in the glass tube. Shaking from head to toe, I take a deep breath as I’m cut off and surrounded by glass. 

Chris nods at me sympathetically as I keep my eyes locked on him. He was in this situation exactly 23 years ago, and only he will know how I feel. 

I watch his face slowly disappear as the cylinder begins to rise. I’m in darkness for about ten seconds before the bright summer sun blinds me. It smells fantastic, the sweet-smell of the meadow and the fresh breeze filling my nose. And the sight, it’s breathtaking. The golden cornucopia stands in a meadow filled with pastel shades of flowers, the sky being a bright blue with puffy clouds moving in a lazy pace above the arena. Off to one side is a deep pine forest, which looks promising, and to the other is a picture-perfect snow-capped mountain. 

Half of our sixty seconds to stand on our silver plates are over. I allow myself a glance at the other tributes, and most are gaping at the gorgeous arena. My eyes lock on Maysilee, who’s about ten tributes away from me. Her gaze meets mine, and my feeling of terror is reflected in her sky-blue eyes. 

“Ten,” Claudius Templesmith’s famous voice taunts us. “Nine. Eight.”

My eyes are locked on a set of dozen knives and a backpack about fifty feet away from me.

“Seven. Six. Five. Four.”

I position myself as if I’m about to run a marathon, my eyes not leaving the set of knives.

“Three. Two. One.”

The gong sounds, and I’m one of the first tributes sprinting down to the cornucopia as if there’s no tomorrow. I swing a black backpack over my shoulder, and grab the set of dozen knives, and run for the forest. I glance back at the other tributes, which some are so dazzled they haven’t even stepped off their plates. 

Just as I’m about to reach the safety of the forest, something silver whisks past my ear, just missing it. I immediately spin around and face one of the Careers, a girl from District 2, rounding on me, armed with a bow and arrows. I feel a spark of anger. Those are Maysilee’s arrows! She should’ve gotten them. It crosses my mind that she may be dead already, but I push the thought out of my head, grab one of my knives, and send it hurdling at my attacker, burying it in her chest.

Her cannon fires, and it occurs to me that all of Panem has just watched me kill another person, something that my mother never encouraged. And now she has to watch me do it on television. 

I quickly stuff my eleven remaining knives into my jacket. The knives come in a case that’s meant to attach onto the inside of jackets, so that I’m grateful for. I keep one in hand and run through the woods, not daring to stop until I can’t hear the fighting anymore.

The cannons boom, one by one, which means the cornucopia is clearing out. I don’t stop running until I’m completely out of breath and need a rest. I test out a hollow log lying on the leaves, and it’s safe to sit on. I unload the contents of my backpack. Matches. Rope. A packet of dried mangos. A box of salted crackers. A package of dried beef. A water bottle, which is filled to the rim with clean, pure water, thank goodness. 

I trace my hands over my eleven knives. Some are smaller, good for throwing, a few are dagger shaped, and there’s one that has a saw blade, which is good for cutting wood. 

My eyes find a pond to my right filled with crystal clear water. Great. I walk over to it, and dip in my hands to clean them off. About five seconds in, and a burning sensation creeps up my arms. Wondering what it could be, I lift my hands out of the pond and to my horror; they’re covered in stinging blisters and burns. 

“Ow!” I yelp, stumbling backwards, unable to touch anything with my hands. I stagger across to the bottom of a tree. 

Well, so much for surviving. If anyone finds me, I’m easy prey since I can’t use my hands. Maybe I’ll burn to death. I don’t know. I try to close my eyes, pretending this is a dream that I can’t wake up from. 

Something lands at my feet, something silver. I open my eyes, knowing that if it’s a predator, that I’ll beg them to kill me. But to my delight, it’s a tiny parachute. I open it using my elbows. Inside it is a container filled with ointment, and a small note attached to it:

Everything is poisonous. Watch out.  
-C

I dip my hands into the ointment, and it’s almost as if my hands are being completely renewed as the blisters disappear along with the pain. 

The Gamemakers tricked us. They had us take quizzes on what plants were poisonous and whatnot, only making everything in this arena poisonous, even the water. Which means that only food from the cornucopia is safe, and the only drinkable water is from the rain and the stuff in my backpack. 

I massage my hands with the medicine, healing every bit in an instant as if magically. I guess Chris knew that I would eventually die if my hands didn’t get healed.

“Thank you,” I mouth up to the sky to let Chris and the other sponsors know that I’m grateful. Not only for the medicine, but for the valuable piece of information none of the other tributes have yet.

I set up camp for the night, laying out my jacket on the floor. I never let go of one of my knives incase I need to fight anyone or anything.

As it gets dark, the anthem starts to play out of nowhere. At first I’m startled, but then I remember it’s just the Capitol announcing all the deaths of the day.

The first person shown on the night sky is the girl from District 2 that I killed, the one with the arrows. Half of District 3 is dead, and same with 8. Finally, they come to District 12, and my heart sinks when I see Thomas’ face projected into the sky. He was way too young.

Maysilee’s alive. Sure, it’s upsetting that Thomas is dead, but Maysilee, the only person I would ever want as an ally, is alive. I feel my body instantly relax, knowing that she’s safe.

I hope it will stay that way.


	7. Chapter 7

I keep on waking up through the entire night. I’m too paranoid to sleep. Knife in hand, and jolting awake at the leaves simply rustling, sleep is not an option right now.

What wakes me up this time is the sound of a campfire crackling a couple hundred feet away. I peer through the trees and see the orange flames flickering in the night, causing a disruption for anyone in the area. What an easy way to get killed. 

For my time in these games, I can’t be humane. Not if I actually want to survive. If I decide to attack the fire-setter, and I win, that’s just one less tribute I have to deal with. And I can’t sleep anyway. As much as I hate it, I grip my knife and tread as lightly on my feet as possible. After growing up in the Seam of District 12, that’s something I’m good at.

The tribute hasn’t noticed me yet. I recognize him; he’s from District 9 and scored only a 4 in training. He’s unarmed, and is holding his hands out to the fire to warm himself up. 

I’m only about 10 feet away from him, and hiding in a bush. I grip my knife, take a deep breath, and hope that none of my family is currently watching. I focus on the boy and pretend he’s one of the targets in the Training Center. 

And I just hit a bull’s-eye. 

As soon as his cannon fires, I run up to his body before the hovercraft can come, and grab his backpack. I don’t bother putting out his fire because I run like hell after that. Surely anyone would have noticed by now.

If there are any other tributes in this area, they haven’t decided to come out and attack me. I run for a good ten minutes, through the endless forest before I find a spot that seems safe. It’s a small cave, hidden by rocks and moss, giving a perfect shelter. I cautiously enter, knife drawn, waiting to see if anything will jump out at me, if it’s already inhabited. After about a minute, I decide it’s safe and set my bags down. 

I unload the contents from the District 9 boy’s bag and put it into my own. It’s similar to mine. A pack of dried fruit and beef. Some matches, an extra knife, and another bottle filled to the rim with safe drinking water. I take a small sip, making sure to spare my only two bottles. I assume the Gamemakers will make the arena rain soon, unless they want all their tributes to die from thirst. That wouldn’t be very entertaining for the Capitol.

I don’t exactly know the time, but I think it’s about 4 a.m. judging by the sky. I haven’t heard any cannons since the bloodbath, except for the boy I killed. But the arena is massive anyway, so I doubt I can hear much of the excitement.

For now, I decide it’s best if I get some sleep. For a few hours, anyway. I rest my head down on a patch of moss and cross my arms, and try to close my eyes. After a few minutes of turning around, I’m finally out.

 

I wake up to the sound of mockingjays chirping, and for a moment I think I’m at home. Wait. Mockingjays. They must be the only non-rabid animal here. At least I think the animals are rabid. The entire arena is poisonous, so I don’t have much faith in the animals either. But I know mockingjays are safe. It might be hard to hunt them from the sky by throwing knives, but I might be able to manage if I throw high enough.

It’s definitely morning, and I can tell by the way the breeze feels and the way the sun peaks through the cave I’ve taken shelter in. 

It only really occurs to me now that the entire population of Panem has watched me kill two people already. They could even be watching me right now. Probably not, since I’m sure there’s something much more entertaining going on in the arena right now than me walking around outside a cave, but they definitely televised the part where I killed those two people. A girl from District 2, and a boy from District 9. Their families probably hate me, as I just ruined their chance of returning. But I can’t let those deaths phase me, since I’ll probably one of them sometime. 

My mind wanders to Maysilee. Where is she? Is she still alive? I’m not sure why she keeps crossing my mind. Maybe because she’s the only person I really care about in this arena. If I’m not going to win, it has to be her. And I know she’s capable of it. Even without her bow and arrows, she’s extremely smart. She could probably make one, if she doesn’t have a weapon already. I want her to return to District 12. Almost as bad as I want to.

I scout the area, seeing if there are any other tributes near me. I half hope there is, because if there isn’t, the Gamemakers will figure out some sick way to draw me into them. Like getting mutts to chase after me, or causing some accident in the area that will lure me away into the excitement. 

I wonder where the Careers are. Since I killed one of their tributes, they’re not going to be very happy and will take any chance to kill me, as soon as possible. I think I saw them running in the direction of the mountain, which is beside the forest I’m staying in. There’s eleven of them, but they’ll most likely travel and hunt in separate groups. Which means any of them could be in the same forest I’m in.

Whatever.

As I trek through the woods, I keep on taking tiny sips of water, trying to preserve it as much as I can. I allow myself very small portions of food, from a piece of dried fruit to a cracker and a half. I’m not sure if I’m going to sleep in the same cave tonight, since I might be too far out of reach once night falls.

I spot a somewhat normal-looking squirrel scampering along the edges of a bush. I was having concerns about the animals here being dangerous, but this looks…normal. Like the ones in District 12, back home. Although a bit more fluffier and golden tinted fur. Maybe the capitol made it look that way to fool us, like they did with the beautiful arena, but I’ve seen over a thousand squirrels in my life and I think this one’s safe. 

I pull out my knife, and aim like I always do. As I’m in position, holding my knife, my mind suddenly starts to wander. This is exactly what I did last night, except I was killing an actual human being. Why don’t I feel bad about killing an animal, although the boy I killed will haunt me until I die? It’s the exact same thing. Maybe you can connect with actual people more, even though I had nothing to do with that boy.

For a second, my thinking actually causes me to lower my knife and stare at the ground for a couple of seconds, when suddenly, I look up, and the squirrel is staring at me. And not in a good way.

I was wrong about the squirrels being normal. They’re obviously mutations, and I can tell by the way it’s baring it’s teeth. What normal squirrel bares it’s teeth? But I’m quicker. I throw my knife directly at the squirrel with extra force, puncturing it in the head, all the life drowning out of it immediately. 

I’m wondering if the 25th Hunger Games arena would’ve been a better option. The only food I can rely on is the stuff in my bag, and mockingjays. The only water I have are two bottles, and when it rains. I’ll completely lose it if they make the rain poisonous. I definitely don’t like the other tributes, but if none of them ended up with water from the cornucopia, they’re screwed. Which isn’t fair at all. Although the Capitol does love a good show, and it’s pretty boring to watch a bunch of people die from thirst.

Speak of the devil. A tiny raindrop rolls hits my shoulder. I hold my hands out to see if it’s safe, since the Gamemakers have had me test literally everything out here, and my the time my hands are wet I know it is. I open up one of my water bottles, which has a tiny bit gone, and refill it up with the rainwater. 

I decide to stay in the forest. I haven’t noticed any other tributes, which is a good thing. Part of me desperately wants to go find Maysilee, to see if she’s safe and become her ally. It crosses my mind that she might be dead and I can’t bear the thought for some reason. 

I don’t mind the rain. Although the trees above block some of it, it’s great to finally feel somewhat clean. After sleeping in the woods, I’m not in my best shape. 

I sit down beside a hollow log, letting the rain cleanse me and my thoughts. I try to think about absolutely nothing, which is impossible if you’ve ever tried. I then try to pretend I’m back home in District 12, but that’s also pretty impossible since District 12 isn’t a poison paradise. 

The sound of leaves crunching beneath someone’s feet rapidly is what startles me from my headspace. I immediately jump to my feet, knife drawn, ready to either fight or flee. The person is obviously running from something, and I realize that whatever it is might be a bit more dangerous than my incomer. 

A flash of red hair bursts out through the bushes and next thing I know Ashley is at my side, screaming at me. Her neck is covered with big red bumps, and realization suddenly dawns on me. 

“Haymitch!” She chokes out, her injuries blocking clear speak. “Go!”  
She splutters. “Tracker –“

She doesn’t even need to finish before I’m crashing through the forest at full speed. I know what she’s talking about, and I can tell by the stings she’s covered in. Tracker Jackers. Their stings will cause powerful hallucinations, and in worse cases, death. I don’t even notice that Ashley isn’t running beside me anymore until I hear the cannon.

I glance back at what I’ve been running from. Most of the Tracker Jackers have gone to infest on Ashley’s body, although a few are still buzzing through the air, following my footsteps. 

Since Tracker Jackers don’t like wide open places, I head for the meadow. I sharp pain hits my right shoulder, searing through my entire body and I do every thing I can not to cry out.

I keep running, slightly delayed by the pain running like electricity through my body. I almost trip when a second sting hits my calf, lighting it up in pain. 

I then begin to see things I don’t know are real. A few flowers beside me start to light on fire, causing my head to fill up with smoke, making me stumble into a nearby tree. As I struggle to get up, the ground is suddenly covered in acres of fresh white roses, which soon explode into water, filling up the arena with salty waves. As soon as it comes, it’s gone.

Hallucinations. That’s what I try to tell myself. That none of this is real, it’s all in the stings and my imagination.

I don’t know if it’s in my imagination when I collapse to the ground, passing out just as I reach the meadow.


	8. Chapter 8

I don't exactly know how long it's been when I wake up. A few hours? A few days? I'm guessing the second.

All I remember is getting chased by Tracker Jackers. And Ashley's death. And getting stung. I'm not sure if I was hallucinating or not. I remember that the arena filled up with water and flowers started to burn… but was that real? I'm guessing not, because I was stung, but the Gamemakers have very sick minds.

My stings have reduced by size majorly. They were only a little smaller than golf balls when I got stung, (or was I imagining that too?) but now they're just like regular mosquito bites. Except much more painful, although the pain has definitely reduced as well.

I find it a bit strange that I've been lying at the edge separating the forest and the meadow for about a day and yet no one has found me. Or maybe someone has, and they just decided not to kill me. Which would be very unlikely, since we all hate each other.

You know what I want? A revolution. That would be like, impossible, since it's been proven that no one can overcome the power of the Capitol, but I can always hope. It's a pretty random thought, but I just want this to be all over. The Games, the stupid Capitol rules, the districts, everything. I just want to get out of these Games, I hate this. But I know that if I do, I'll never be the same. I'll end up with PTSD or something and I'll have let the Capitol change me. Hell, they already have. They've gotten me into killing innocent people I don't even know. They've taught me they're my enemies, yet we're all just in the same boat. We're all just a piece in their Games.

I can see the cornucopia off in the distance, sitting in the grass. Since night is falling, it's a bit harder to make out but I can tell because of the way the soft moonlight bounces off the golden shape of it, illuminating it in the evening.

It's a bit strange that the Careers aren't there. In past Games, that's usually where they hide out. If they're not in there, it's definitely been cleaned out by them already. They're probably somewhere on that mountain, hunting around for victims.

That thought drives me back into the forest. Anyone could be watching me right now, as I'm just standing out here in the open. I grab my bag and my knife, and head back the direction I remember coming.

How long have I been out? And how many people have died since? I wasn't awake to watch that night's recap of all the deaths. My mind suddenly goes to Maysilee. Her and I are the only remaining tributes from District 12, (if she's not dead.) But something tells me she's alive, since she's so smart and all. But so was Ashley, and she's been shipped back to District 12 in a coffin.

An ear-splitting scream suddenly fills the area, echoing around and around and around. And then a cannon.

I watch as a dozen candy-pink birds soar out from a spot in the forest near me, their long, sharp beaks tipped with glistening blood. It's no doubt they're mutts, designed and generated by the Capitol to kill tributes in the Games. No normal bird would have such instinct to kill.

I make a mental note that all animals in this arena are designed by the Capitol (except the mockingjays, perhaps,) and that I should stay away from them.

Even though the cotton-candy pink killer birds have left the area, for what it seems like, I decide to start scouting around the mountain. The Careers are probably getting bored there, and have probably started to hunt in the forest.

As I'm heading in my new direction, the national anthem of Panem suddenly starts to boom out, filling up all the spaces empty of noise. I swivel my head up to the sky, to see the fallen tributes of today.

The first person that appears in the sky is a skinny-looking boy from District 4, one of the Careers. If any hadn't died yesterday, that's means there's 10 left. I wonder what he did to betray them, so much to get himself killed.

Two of the tributes from District 6 appear in the sky. I'm pretty sure their other two tributes died in the bloodbath, so that eliminates their whole district.

Then there's a boy from District 7, and a girl from District 10. I'm guessing that one of them got killed by the murderous pink birds. Eighteen tributes died in the bloodbath, and now we have another five. Which would mean that's twenty-three of us left. Almost half the tributes dead in two days. Except I've been passed out for part of that time, so there's probably more that I missed.

Twenty-five of us remaining. Roughly. Probably less, since I missed one night's recap, so I'm guessing around twenty or so left, including me. And only one of us will be returning.

The anthem ends with a flourish and the Capitol seal is broadcasted on to the sky for a few seconds before everything goes black again, the only source of light being the dim moon and the few stars that are separated around the sky.

The best time to move would be now. Even though it's nighttime and I would be expected to rest, I've already had an entire day full of slumber thanks to the Tracker Jackers. I guess that's the only plus to being stung. You get to sleep. Sometimes, forever.

Although it's dark, I can see the sharp outlines of the snow-capped mountain above me. The snow covering the tip of it glistens in the moonlight, making me wonder if it's poisonous, too.

I'm not going to climb it. But I know there will be places to hide around the edge of the bottom, so I scout around it.

I stop when I find a small cave surrounded entirely by tangled vines, swerving in and out, knitting a shelter and a hiding place. Knowing that it might already be inhabited, I draw my knife and cautiously poke my head into the shelter, just like I did a few days ago. If anyone or anything had already been here there would be footprints or paw marks in the dirt, which there clearly isn't. The air inside is cold and tangy, indicating it is not someone's home.

I rest against a wall in the cave, which is most likely the bottom of the mountain, and reach for a nearby stick. I whittle the tip of the stick down with my knife, creating a small pile of wood shavings. I keep on scraping until it almost becomes a knife of it's own, the edge being so sharp. I contemplate whether I should keep it as a wooden spear, which could certainly come in handy, but I have all my knives. Which I do just fine with, and the stick will only be a burden to carry.

Although I've slept for an entire day, I already begin to feel my eyelids droop with exhaustion. I throw the whittled stick into the corner of the cave, and I turn over to one side, covering myself with my jacket.

It's not long before I'm out, once again.

…..

When I awake, it's still slightly dark outside. The sky is a navy blue, indicating that it's very early morning. For a minute I wonder what woke me, until my hands touch the wall of the mountain beside me.

It's almost as if the mountain is vibrating, the pit of it slowly begin to rumble. I put up my ear next to the bottom of the mountain that I've been resting on all night, and it's like I can hear the spewing of sizzling coals. But why would there be coals inside a mountain? Then it dawns on me.

The slight hum coming from the center of the mountain, making the ground close to it vibrate, and the sizzling sound I hear from inside. The Gamemakers really want to have some fun today.

This isn't a mountain.

It's a volcano.

And right now, the ground isn't just vibrating. Now it's starting to shake. Faster, and almost audibly.

I immediately jump to my feet, swooping up my bag of belongings faster then I ever have. I race out of the cave, bolting back towards the safety of the forest.

As I'm running, I can feel the ground beneath my feet starting to shake even more. This volcano is obviously generated by the Gamemakers, since we would've been able to tell if it was explosive long before if it were natural. The Gamemakers are making everything move at a faster pace, as if they're desperate to take some tributes out. Like they want the Games to be over faster than it already will be.

I glance back at the mountain, which stops me in my tracks for a moment. A cloud of ash is forming over the top, while pebbles and more ash are spewing out, only preparing for the lava.

If I don't move fast, I'll be covered in ashes and possibly suffocate to death. I'm sprinting now, desperate to distance myself as far away from this now-volcanic mountain as possible.

If there are any Careers left on that mountain, they'll surely be blown or melted away. I saw them head there after the bloodbath, but that doesn't guarantee they're still there. Still, I'll hope for the best.

I allow myself another look at the volcano, which is now allowing sparks to shoot up from the center and red hot lava dripping over the sides of it, like how you see it on TV.

This just causes me to run faster until I'm bolting through the protection of the trees, which will most likely shield me from any danger. I still keep on running, faster and faster, the volcano being my only motivation. I realize that most of the tributes are going to take shelter in the forest, same as I am. The Gamemakers really succeeded to bring us all together.

I start to hear the cannons. One, two, three, four, five. Five gone. There might be more, but I can't hear much over the spewing of the volcano.

I slow down to a jog, and wipe the droplets of sweat that are starting to appear on my forehead away. I'm far enough away from the volcanic mountain, and the Gamemakers won't make it so that it wipes out everyone in the entire arena.

I wait it out for a while, sitting on a boulder just watching it all go down. Since the Gamemakers have made it so that it won't harm anyone in the forest, I immerse myself in watching the lava drip down the sides of the mountain, and how the sparks almost create a fire of their own as they burst out of the top. Despite the tragedy and purpose of the volcanic mountain, it's quite a cool and beautiful thing to watch. As long as you don't get harmed in it.

I almost get to absorbed in the sight to not notice the crunching of leaves and snickers behind me.


	9. Chapter 9

Instinct drives me to the knives hidden in my jacket. I don't even know what's behind me, but I instantly clutch two knives instead of one.

My attackers are obviously prepared, too. I spin around as fast as I can, and I face three Careers who are looking at me as if they're surprised I have weapons. They eye the knives in my hands and realize who I am, the boy from District 12 who scored a ten in training. Not as easy prey as they thought.

But I am outnumbered. I immediately throw a knife, not really bothering to take my time to aim. The blade burrows itself into an unsuspecting boy from District 1's stomach, who falls to the ground immediately, convulsing on the grass. The middle boy, the strongest looking one, launches his only spear at me, which I partly manage to dodge. It whisks past my leg, leaving only a small scrape. While he runs to grab it from the ground, which is a while away since he threw it so far, the other boy hurls himself at me with only a big stick, as if that's a real weapon. I duck, and keeping the knife in my hand, I swipe his lower stomach, making blood pour out of it at an incredible speed. He staggers back, alarmed at my strength, but doesn't give up. He tries to fling himself on top of me, but I'm not the injured one. Taking advantage of his weakness, I roll over ever so slightly, so that I'm on top of him. I slam my elbow into his face, which causes blood to stream from his nose.

He throws his fist into my shoulder, making it ache for a second. I then bury my knife into his neck, and then I race to the other tribute because I know this one's a goner, too.

The last boy who's alive, the strongest one, has abandoned his spear and has literally picked up a small log. He bolts towards me, raising the log, and slamming it into my face. My vision goes slightly blurry before I hit the ground, and I almost can't make out what's happening.

The next thing I know, the boy has me kneeled down in front of him. His arm is wrapped around my neck, not tight enough to choke me. I wonder why, but then I see my knife in his hand, and I realize he's about to slit my throat, instead.

I don't even bother to try to fight back. Blood pouring from my nose, my forehead bruised and scratched from the log, I already know he'll win. I close my eyes, and wait for the blade to touch my throat when suddenly his grip is released and he staggers backwards.

Why is he the one lying on the floor, dead? And why is there a dart in his back? Then I come to the conclusion I have more guests. I grab my knife from the ground and spin around, ready to face my new incomer despite the fuzziness in my head. I don't put it down until I realize who it is.

"We'd live longer with two of us," says a familiar voice. I watch as Maysilee steps out of the woods, her lips playing a small smirk and a dart gun clutched in her hand.

"I guess you just proved that," I say, the edges of my mouth forming into a small grin. Before I know it, I'm in her arms.

"You're alive," I whisper, relief clearly evident in my voice. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"Same with me," she whispers back into my ear. "You killed them all?" She releases her grip and gestures towards the three dead Careers.

"Well, you killed the third," I say. "Thank you for that."

"No, I mean – yeah," she says, frowning. "But you took on the other two with just your knife, I didn't know you could do that."

Realization hits me that all of Panem has just watched me murder two innocent people. People that tried to kill me as well, but it's just the same thing. "Neither did I."

"Allies?" Maysilee asks, although she already knows my answer.

"I didn't think you'd need to ask that," I say, smiling. "Sure."

Of course, it's only temporary, but neither of us decide to mention that.

We both decide it's best for us to clear the area, since the other two remaining Careers could've heard the cannon.

"So who's left?" I ask Maysilee.

"Well, there's only two Careers left," she says. "That's surprising. I know the volcano took out five of them, and we just killed three." She pauses. "I think it's the blonde girl from 1, and the guy whose passion is to kill people from 2."

"That's a nice hobby."

She laughs. "I think there's around fifteen of us left," she says. "I know District 4 is gone…they were all killed in the volcano. Distirct 6 is gone, too. There's only one tribute from 1, 2 and 3, I know that. 1 & 2 are obviously working together. I think there's one or two from 5. There's that little girl from District 7, I can't believe she's still alive."

"Do you know any others?" I ask.

"That's all I can remember… but I know there's 15 of us left, I counted. We're all going pretty fast, to be honest."

"The Gamemakers will probably drag it on at the end." I sigh. "There's always some grand finale, especially since it's a Quarter Quell. They'll figure out some way to lure us all together, when there's like three of us left. It always happens."

"I don't want to be there for that." Says Maysilee, frowning.

I copy her expression. "Don't you want to win?"

"It would be nice, going home to District 12 again. But I couldn't… I can't. You know I won't win, Haymitch."

"You could do it," I say thoughtfully. "With that dart gun of yours and your wittiness."

"I dipped the darts in the poisonous water," she says. "So that I know my enemy is dead for sure."

I laugh. "See? The Careers wouldn't have thought of that. You're too smart for them."

She doesn't laugh back. "No. They have better weapon and would kill me in an instant. It'll probably be you or them who wins."

"Stop arguing." I say harshly. "I know a victor when I see one."

She returns my hard tone, as if accusing me. "So do I," she says, her sparkling blue eyes boring into mine. "And I'm looking right at him. And if it really does come between you and me –"

I take a step towards her. "You know I can't kill you." I growl. "So if it does come down to you and me, I'll hand you the knife."

She doesn't reply, only a slight roll of the eyes.

We walk through the woods in silence. It's only until Maysilee stops to put her hair in a ponytail do I realize the pin on her shirt. It's the same one she wore during the interviews. A gold mockingjay, with an arrow clutched in it's beak.

"I like your pin," I say, tracing my fingers over the golden bird's wings. "Is it your token?"

"Yeah, it was my aunt's." She says, not looking up. Perhaps she's still a little disoriented because of our argument. "I didn't know her, though. She was caught hunting in the woods one time and got killed by the Peacekeepers."

"I'm sorry." I say. Or that's more like all I can think of saying.

She decides to change the topic. "So how did you find out the whole arena was poisonous?"

I allow myself a small smirk, remembering the moment and how stupid I was. "The hard way."

She narrows her eyes. "How'd you get out of that situation?"

"Sponsors sent me medicine," I say almost uncomfortably. It's rare for anybody from an outline district like me or Maysilee to get sponsors. "Attached to it was a note from Chris telling me that everything was poisonous."

"Lucky," says Maysilee. Then it's as if a light bulb appears over her head as she says, "do you still have the parachute?"

"Um, I think so," I say, reaching into my bag. My hands clasp over it, a small container with a parachute hanging from the top of it. "Why?"

She immediately takes it out of my hands and removes the small jar of ointment from it. Then she pulls a few berries from her pocket.

"Nightlock?" I ask in confusion.

"Yeah," she confirms, and pours the handful of nightlock into the parachute.

Realization of what she's doing dawns on me, and her intelligence certainly amazes me. Then, as if on cue, I hear heavy footsteps coming from a few yards away.

"Someone's here," I say, grasping a knife from inside my jacket.

"No," she whispers, gesturing to put my knife away. "Follow me."

There's a big oak tree a few feet away. Maysilee grabs onto a branch, and pulls herself up onto the rough bark. I copy her actions, questioning what she's doing but not doubting it, because I know she's smart, and we keep climbing until we're hidden in the high leaves and branches.

Below us, a boy with red hair and lots of freckles that I recognize from District 11, steps out into the clearing. He seems confused, as if he expected there to be tributes in the area. Obviously tired, he sits down on a log, dropping his spear and wiping his forehead.

I look at Maysilee in confusion, wondering if we're going to stay hidden or if we're going to attack. She just smirks back, and dangles the parachute filled with nightlock in front of me.

Fluffing out the parachute as much as she can, she drops it from a high branch, letting it glide gently down to the clearing where the boy with the spear sits.

It lands softly on the bed of leaves below us, startling the boy. He grabs his spear, ready to fight, but I see his eyes cloud over in relief when he realizes it's a parachute.

Obviously thinking it's a sponsor gift, he strides over to the parachute and unlocks the clasp, and pours the berries into his hand.

Nightlock and blueberries look pretty much the same, and it's obvious he can't tell the difference because he pops one into his mouth. It's as he swallows that he realizes he's been tricked. His face forms into an expression of fear as he falls to the ground, the cannon booming as the rest of the berries tumble out of his hand.

I stare at Maysilee in fascination. "God, Maysilee, how can you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Just – think of all these intelligent traps, and – I don't know!" I say in slight frustration and awe.

"Well, it just – came to me, I guess," she says, beginning to make her way down the tree.

"You're brilliant." I say, following her footsteps. "Nobody else would've thought of that. You're too smart for them."

She's trying to hide her small smile that's lifting up the edges of her mouth. "Thank you." She says, trying to be modest.

We keep on walking through the woods, only pausing to take small sips of water and take tiny bites of the food we have. Maysilee only got a backpack from the cornucopia, which included the dart gun, and some food and water. She's turned out to be incredibly resourceful for what little she has.

It's starting to get dark out, the sunlight draining out bit by bit. I can see Maysilee's eyelids starting to get heavy with exhaustion. It's clear she hasn't slept in a while, I can tell by the way her walking keeps on slowing down.

"Do you want to stop for the night?" I ask her.

"Sure… where?" She asks, looking around the area.

There's a maple tree that has a big trunk, providing shelter with its many leaves. I drop to the ground underneath it, resting my back against the rough bark. "I'll take first watch."

"Okay," says Maysilee with a yawn, taking a place beside me. She covers herself with her jacket, and rests her head against the tree. She doesn't say anything more, for her eyes start to close immediately and her head starts to droop to one side.

The anthem plays, and today's fallen tributes are projected into the sky. A girl from District 1 with short brown hair that was killed in the volcano. Four other Careers, also killed in the volcano, and the three Careers that Maysilee and I killed. It still amazes me that there are only two Careers left.

Then there's the boy from District 11 that was killed by the nightlock, technically killed by Maysilee. Nightlock doesn't really grow in District 11, so it makes sense that he would've mistaken them for blueberries.

The anthem ends with the Capitol seal. I'm glad it hasn't woken Maysilee up. I yawn, trying to stay awake, for mine and Maysilee's sake. I tilt my head to look at her. Her head has fallen onto my shoulder, her blonde hair swaying in the light evening breeze.

I smile to myself slightly before my eyelids start to get heavy. It looks like there's no danger here, so I allow myself to rest my eyes.

Maybe I'm imagining it, but before slumber consumes me, I let my head fall to rest against hers, and I can see the corners of her mouth twist into a small smile.


	10. Chapter 10

I must've gotten a pretty good sleep that night, because when I wake up, the hot sun indicates that it's midday, and Maysilee is still asleep on my shoulder.

Not wanting to wake her, I gently get up and stretch my legs. My stomach instantly rumbles with hunger, and I know Maysilee will want food too. I pick up the dart gun that's fallen out of her hands, and I'm about to walk away with it until her arm reaches out onto mine.

"Not so fast," she mumbles, eyes still half-closed.

I frown at her. "You honestly think I would ever betray you?"

"No," she says, "I was just wondering why you're taking my weapon?"

"I'm just getting food, calm down," I reassure her. "Stay here, you need the rest."

"Fine."

The only animals that are safe in here are mockingjays, so that's why I use Maysilee's dart gun. Knives couldn't kill that high up, and mockingjays live in the treetops.

I load the dart gun with a dart that hasn't been dipped in poison, and scout the sky. It's the familiar sound of the mockingjay humming it's morning song that tells me it's whereabouts.

It's sitting on a branch high on a birch tree, its turquoise coat shining in the sunlight streaming in through the branches. I almost feel bad for shooting it out of the tree, since mockingjays have done nothing but make pleasurable songs in the morning. They haven't done anything to provoke me or annoy me. But neither did the boy from District 9 that I killed, or the boy from District 11.

I manage to get two mockingjays, one for me and one for Maysilee, and then I head back to where we set up camp. It's only about a five minute walk, which is good.

When I get back, Maysilee's still awake, and is going through my collection of knives.

"Nice knives you have here," she says, tracing her fingers over the largest one. "You must've gotten to the cornucopia early."

"Yeah, a lot of the tributes were distracted by the sight, but I wasn't. But you got the dart gun."

She laughs. "I actually didn't know I was getting a dart gun." I must look confused because she quickly explains, "I just grabbed a backpack and a small dart gun happened to be in there."

"Oh. Well, that's lucky." I say. "I guess it's not that hard to learn how to use."

"No," she says, agreeing with me. Then she changes the subject. "I guess we should get started on a fire to cook the birds."

I'm a bit hesitant on this, since the last time someone started a fire, they got killed. And I was the killer. Maybe karma will find it's way to me, and the exact same thing will happen, and I will be the victim. But Maysilee is here with me. So if the Careers do find us, it will be fair game since there are only two of them left, too. But it's the middle of the day, and fires usually aren't that noticeable in the sunlight.

"I have some matches," I offer, digging into my pack and scooping out the small box I haven't used yet. "Here," I hand them to her.

While Maysilee starts the fire and skins the birds, I allow myself to slightly scout our small area to see if there's any danger around. I know the Careers have definitely left the mountain since it turned out to be a volcano, so they could be in the forest. Although the area looks clear, I'll remember to keep my eyes peeled.

As I'm about to head back to sit beside Maysilee, I suddenly hear a noise. It sounds somewhat familiar, and I know it definitely isn't dangerous.

A parachute gently glides towards me, slowly drifting through the wind before it lands at my feet.

"What's that?" Maysilee looks up and heads over to me.

I slowly open up the parcel, revealing twelve rolls of freshly baked bread. No note is attached to it this time, though the aroma of the loaves fill the air, giving off a fresh heat.

"It's from District 12, I can tell." I say, looking up at her. "I'm pretty sure it's from the Mellark bakery."

"It looks like it. I used to eat there all the time –" she pauses, remembering that I come from the Seam, the poorest part of District 12. Maysilee's from the merchant side, where the mayor lives. It's definitely not a rich area (since none of District 12 really is) but it's about as wealthy as an outline district gets.

"Here," I say, handing her a roll. She shakes her head.

"It's obviously for you, Haymitch," she says, as if this should be very well known. "You have lots of sponsors. Remember your interview strategy?"

I frown. "That's not –"

"You should honestly be more grateful." She says, throwing her head back in exhaustion. "They want you to win. That's why they're giving you things like this."

"I can't eat these all by myself." I say. "You deserve half of them."

She doesn't reject it, because obviously food is a major difference between life and death here, but I can tell that she's uncomfortable with eating food that's supposed to be for me. I try to imagine what it was like for her, having me show up with valuable medicine while she had gotten nothing. And her first day of being allies with me, a plate full of fresh bread shows up. I can definitely see where she's coming from, and I don't blame her.

I indulge on a roll, something I haven't had the pleasure of doing since the morning of the reaping. There were lots of bread rolls in the Capitol, but none of them taste the same as the ones from the Mellark's bakery in 12. They're in the merchant area too, so they can afford plenty of proper baking materials.

"Which Careers are left? Like, I know there's two of them, but do you know who?" I ask while nibbling away at a bread roll.

"It's a boy from District 2, I think his name is Aries. And a girl from District 1, the one with the ax. I forget her name though."

"I heard someone call her Alessandra." I say, remembering her confidence on interview night.

"I think they have a bow and arrow," she says. "I don't think they know how to use it, though. It belonged to a girl from 2 that got killed in the bloodbath."

"I killed her." I say quietly. "Anyway, what about the bow and arrow? You don't want to take it from them, do you?"

She shifts her feet. "It's a dangerous idea. But I do know where they set up camp." I must have a ridiculous look on my face because she says, "you don't have to come. I wouldn't put you in that kind of danger. But I might go, though. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for that weapon."

"If you go, I'll go." I say firmly. "If there's two of us, we'll be harder to attack. But I'm guessing you're planning on going when they're not around?"

"Yeah," she says. "They've set up camp near the river. It's not far from here, actually."

I narrow my eyes. "There's a river here?"

"Yep. Poisonous, obviously, but that's where they are. I passed them yesterday."

"And it's in this forest?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"When are you planning on going?"

"Whenever they're hunting for other tributes. And that's pretty often." She says grimly.

Without any scream or indication that there's danger nearby, a cannon suddenly booms, echoing around the entire arena.

Maysilee grabs her dart gun. "I'll bet that's them."

I look up in alarm. "You're suggesting we go now?"

"Yes," she says, packaging up the rest of the rolls and putting them into my bag. "That's most likely them. And even if it isn't, they'll be attracted to the sound of the cannon. They're always looking for a good fight."

I grip one of my knives. "Lead the way, then."

I follow her through a path of twisted vines, traveling deeper and deeper into the forest. I keep on turning my head around, prepared for anything to jump out at any second.

After we've been walking for about thirty minutes, the sound of rushing water turns my head. A crystal clear stream runs through the forest at a fast pace. At first it looks almost comforting, although I know that it's full of poison.

I'm beginning to smell the remnants of a campfire, the smell of the burned out ashes filling up my nose. The Careers obviously aren't afraid to set fires at night. I guess Maysilee was right about them loving to start fights.

Maysilee starts to walk very slowly and lightly, making sure not to make a sound by crunching the bed of leaves beneath her. She suddenly stops.

A big, hollow log lies right beside a bush. My eyes catch sight of a streak of silver sticking out the end of the log. I try to remember what the arena bows look like… then it comes to me. I recognize the same silver fletching of the arrows that whisked past my ear the day of the bloodbath.

"That's it," Maysilee whispers. As she's about to take a step forward to retrieve it, I feel myself holding out my hand to shield her, stopping her from moving forward.

"Wait." I look at her carefully. "You don't think that the Careers would've set up some sort of trap?"

She considers this for a moment. "If they'd have set up a trap, they would probably leave their stuff lying in the open." She says. "It's obvious that they've done quite a job of trying to hide their supplies."

As she says this, I begin to notice backpacks lying in the depths of bushes, purposefully concealed by mud and leaves. What she's said is true. If the Careers had set up a trap, they wouldn't have made such an effort to cover up their stuff from the cornucopia. Just to be sure, I pick up a small rock off the ground and throw it into the area, to make sure they haven't reactivated the land mines from the cornucopia and planted them here. I've seen tributes do that in the previous Games, but mostly only tributes from District 3, since they specialize in technology. Luckily, when the rock hits the area, nothing happens and I decide it's safe.

"Just go get it, before they come back." I urge her.

Next thing I know, Maysilee is back at my side, a sheath of silver arrows strung over her back and a beautiful recurve bow clutched in her hand. "Let's go."

As we travel back to our camp, Maysilee tests out her new bow by shooting arrows into nearby trees.

"This thing shoots great," she says in excitement as she pulls an arrow out of a tree and slides it back into her quiver.

I try to hide my smile. "Keep it down, though. At least until we're officially out of the area."

She nods at me. "Do you think we should move to the other side of the forest? To avoid the Careers?"

"I think that's a good idea," I consider. "I don't recall leaving anything where we last set up, so let's start now."

Just as we're about to take another step forward, a knife from behind us comes shooting into a nearby tree, just missing our heads.


	11. Chapter 11

I whip around, knife still clutched in my hand, and expecting the two Career tributes to be behind us, enraged at Maysilee for stealing their bow and arrows. Instead, I'm surprised. It's the girl from District 7 with short black hair. I've seen her throw knives in training. She's alright, but she usually misses the target. Unlike me.

She flings another knife, this time directed at me, and it just misses my arm, although leaving a cut, which is probably deeper than I expect it to be. I'm about to hurl my knife right into her chest until an arrow does the job for me.

Maysilee swings her bow over her shoulder. "You alright?" she says, looking at my arm.

"Yeah," I say, although blood is pouring out strangely fast. "I have some bandages in my bag. I'll take care of it."

"Well, we need to get out of here," says Maysilee grimly. "That cannon lets the Careers know where we are, and remember, they love a good fight."

"Right," I say. Then I have an idea. "Why don't we take a little break from the forest?"

Maysilee's eyebrows are traveling further up her forehead. "Where are you suggesting we go?"

I narrow my eyes. "Maysilee, we've been travelling these woods for the past two days. It's clear that nothing ends here."

"Ends here?"

"Yeah. I mean, the arena has to stop somewhere, right? It can't go on forever." I say.

"Well where do you think it does?"

"I don't know," I say, my eyes still narrowed, "let's head for the hills. It's near the volcano/mountain."

Maysilee laughs. "You want to head near the volcano?"

"It's not going to explode again. The Gamemakers have learned that it kills too many tributes at once, and they want this game to last. And if does happen, which it probably won't, we'll most likely be safe. It's not that close."

"Okay," says Maysilee, wearing a grin. "You're crazy, but okay."

I can see the light of the meadow peaking through the fences of trees, so that's where we head. I lead the way, since I've been this way before. As we walk, I wrap the scratched up part of my arm up in bandages.

"How many are left?" Maysilee asks me as we walk.

"Including us, twelve." I say, not looking at her. "Not including us? Ten."

"Wow. I never really expected to make it this far."

"If I walk through one more spider web…" I mutter to myself while tangling the silky thread out of my hair as we finally begin to clear the forest. We've been walking for about two hours, and I think it's safe to say we're both exhausted. My energy has been draining as fast as the daylight, and Maysilee has been exhibiting very tired behavior as well, and the bags under her eyes are definitely not reducing.

The Panem anthem causes me to flinch as we reach the edge between the woods and the hills. I adjust my eyes to the man-made light of the projection I haven't seen for the past 24 hours, and pay attention to today's fallen tributes.

There's the little girl with olive toned skin from District 5. I'm guessing she was the unknown cannon we heard earlier today, another victim of the Careers.

"All of District 5 is gone." Maysilee mutters, and I can't tell if she was speaking directly to me or just to herself.

The only other person that appears in the sky tonight is the small girl from 7 that Maysilee killed today with her arrows. We stare at the Capitol seal for a moment before everything around us is immersed in the darkness of the night.

"I think we should stop here." I say. "It's too late to climb the hills tonight, and I think we're much too tired."

"Agreed." She says, dropping her bag at the foot of a tall oak tree, and then falling onto the ground in exhaustion herself.

"I'll take first watch," I say firmly, sliding a knife I had on hand back into my jacket.

Maysilee's face immediately knits itself into a frown. "Haymitch –"

"No." I say, taking a seat beside her on the bed of leaves and grass. "I will take first watch, and nothing you say will stop me."

I can tell she desperately wants sleep, but since she's Maysilee, she'll make it an argument. She mutters something under her breath about how crazy I am, and I don't bother to ask her what it is.

Maysilee's one of those people that can fall asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, and I envy her for that. No matter how tired I am, it always takes me a certain amount of time to adjust to slumber. I'd have to be majorly drunk to just pass out on the spot like that.

I find myself fiddling with a strand of her dark blonde hair as her head rests against my shoulder. I realize what kind of picture this must look like to anyone watching, which could be the whole population, and immediately let it fall out of my hand. I wouldn't say there's anything romantic going on between her and me. I have Rose. Rose, who has watched me kill about five innocent people in the past couple of days. Rose, who watched me tell Maysilee I'd rather have her be victor when I promised her I would try my best to win. I wonder what it's like for her, stuck behind a television screen, watching the love of her life nearly die several times and not being able to do anything about it.

I definitely care for Maysilee. A lot. If it were down to her and me there would be no way I'd be able to kill her myself. And she's attractive. It would greatly surprise me if she doesn't have a boyfriend, since I see the way all the boys at school look at her.

It's so weird. I've never really acknowledged this, but maybe part of me actually wants to love her. Like somehow, magically, the rules could be changed and there'd be allowed two victors instead of one. But that would never happen. Not under Snow's nose. And Rose. I can't love two people like that at once.

My mind seems so fuzzy right now, probably from lack of sleep. I'm in this state of confusion, not being able to tell what's real or not. I find my eyes start to close by themselves as my mind begins to cloud over with darkness.

Maysilee's POV

I reach over and tap his shoulder ever so gently. He's a pretty light sleeper, so I don't think anything else will be necessary.

His eyelids flutter open, his dark hair falling in his face. "What is it?" He mumbles, probably in a state of being half awake and half asleep.

"It's morning, Haymitch." I tell him. He looks pretty confused, so I say, "you fell asleep. I took over watch in the middle of the night."

"I'm sorry." He says with another yawn as he stretches his arms out.

"No, it's okay." I assure him. "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Even if you were awake, I would've taken over anyway."

Not responding, he stands up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder despite his morning exhaustion. "We should go."

I frown. "Where?"

"Remember? Our plan yesterday? How we would climb the hills to get a better viewpoint of the arena, to see if it ends anywhere?"

"Arenas can't just end like that –"

The hauntingly familiar boom of a cannon pauses my words. It doesn't sound too far away.

"Another reason why we should get going." Says Haymitch firmly. For a moment, I see something flicker in his sparkling gray eyes, but as soon as it comes, it goes.

I grab my bow and swing my quiver of arrows over my shoulder. "Fine. Lead the way."

We slept right on the outskirts of the forest, almost directly where the hills begin. As we finally clear the woods, leaving all the trees behind, I finally get a proper look of the hills. They're bigger than I expected. Definitely not mountains, but close. Not big enough to be volcanoes, thank God. They're mostly grass, with bits of rocks and trees along the way. I don't think there's a clear path to follow, and it does look like there are some steep parts where the rocks form.

Haymitch stops to look at it too, maybe realizing this was a bigger climb then he expected. But I know that won't stop him.

The first bit of climbing is easy; I wouldn't even call it climbing. It's all grass, as if we're walking in an uphill meadow.

"What are you even expecting to find?" I call to him through the slight winds as we trek though the grass.

"I don't know, maybe something we can use?" He says. "The arena can't go on forever, you know."

"Maybe it can." I mutter to myself quietly. He pretends not to hear me.

We don't speak again the rest of the way up, at least until we reach the rock portion of it.

"I'll go first, and then I'll help you up." Says Haymitch. He attaches the knife he was holding onto his belt, and hoists himself up onto the first rock.

I follow him, always making sure he's a few feet ahead. A few times my feet slip, since I've never really been that good at climbing, except trees. Haymitch notices and keeps an eye on me, stopping to catch my hand as I scramble up.

"You okay?" he asks after we're done with the rock portion.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." I say. "But thank God we're done with the rocks now."

"It doesn't look as steep ahead, let's keep going."

A half hour later of somewhat slow walking, we're at the top. I stand slightly behind Haymitch as he looks out on the horizon, how the fluffy clouds shape the bright blue sky, how the breeze ruffles his hair. You can honestly see everything up here. The forest, the river, the meadow, and the volcano (which turns out to be a lot more distanced from the hills then we originally thought, so that's good.) The thing is, the arena doesn't show any signs of stopping.

Perhaps the most haunting thing is not what we see, but what we hear. Three cannons. Not all at once, separated by only minutes. They don't sound too close, although the cannons echo around the entire arena, making it sound closer than it actually is.

"That was fast." Haymitch mumbles under his breath.

"Now there are only eight of us." I say. When I was chosen to compete in the Games, those were words I'd never thought would come out of my mouth. Yet here I am.

I know I'm going to have to leave Haymitch at one time or another. We couldn't possibly kill each other, not with what we've been through together. I have to keep reminding myself that only one of us can win, if even that. I wish that there were two victors allowed. That would make sense, right? If they come from the same district?

"How long do you plan on staying up here?" I ask him.

He smiles to himself. "Until the Gamemakers decide to bring us down."

"Well, in that case," I head over to a nearby bush, since there are no nearby trees on the top of this hill. "I'm taking a nap."

"I think I might, too." He says, sitting next to me. "I slept horribly last night."

"Me too. I don't think any of us really needs to keep guard… I mean, we're on the top of a pretty big hill. I would suggest keeping that knife in your hand, though."

The last thing I see before I rest my eyes is his grin as he takes my advice and pulls out his knife, keeping it in hand as he lies down.

..............

Haymitch's POV

I immediately know I overslept when my alarm is the Panem national anthem.

There are four tributes projected into the dark sky. I'm clouded with relief when one of them is a Career. The District 2 boy named Aries. Now, it's only Alessandra who's left. I'm not scared of her, although in my opinion, she's more of a threat than Aries was. Mainly because I saw her in the Training Center with her ax.

The next one is a boy from District 3, eliminating that whole district. Two tributes from District 11, one boy and one girl. If I'm correct, there's one more girl left from that district.

I wonder what took out those three tributes all at once. One of the mutated squirrels or those candy-pink birds? Or some trap created by the Gamemakers?

I glance over to my left, and luckily, the musical anthem hasn't woken Maysilee. It must be around 9 pm, judging by the sky full of stars above us. I'm frankly still tired, and even looking at the bright Capitol seal in the sky has made my eyes feel heavy.

I don't argue with my exhaustion, and let it take over me.

.........

I do end up getting a better sleep than the night before, which I'm certainly thankful for. As I open my eyes, adjusting them to the morning sunlight, I see Maysilee sitting at the very top of the hill, clearly in deep thought.

"Hey," I stretch out my arms and legs and join her, overlooking the entire arena and the bright horizon.

"There was another cannon about fifteen minutes ago." She says, clearly upset by this, since she doesn't turn to look my way. "I know what they're trying to do."

A crease appears between my eyebrows. "Who's trying to do what?"

She finally turns to me. "The Gamemakers," she says, as if stating the obvious. "They're making them die fast on purpose. They want us to separate."

"But –"

"There's only seven of us left, Haymitch." She stands up. "You know we can't kill each other."

I keep my frown. "So you're suggesting we split up?"

It's obvious she wants to deny it, I can tell by her tone. "Unfortunately, yes. I just… I can't watch you die, and I know it would be the same for you."

"I know." I say solemnly. "When do you plan on leaving?"

"I don't know… maybe now. Before the Gamemakers decide to pull some sick trick to kill us both."

"Okay." I say. More so, that's all I can get out.

I stand up beside her, and wrap my arms around her. She returns my embrace, knowing that in a few days or less, there will only be one tribute from District 12 left.

I watch as she slings her quiver of arrows over her shoulder, and slowly begins to make her way back down the hill. I'm in this by myself now.

I turn my back on the direction she headed to look at the arena. This was such a stupid idea, climbing this entire hill for nothing. What did I even expect to find? An end? Even if there were an end to the arena, the Gamemakers would surely just extend it on more.

In my frustration, I kick a small rock off the edge of the cliff of the hill. I watch as it falls down, into the depths of the woods beneath, never to be seen again.

I turn my back on the cliff, finally deciding to get down from the hill, the opposite way Maysilee's going. As I'm about to put my foot forward, I feel something hit the back of my shoulder.

I spin around; ready for any oncoming attacker, until I see the exact same rock I kicked a minute ago lying before me.

The wheels in my head start to turn, and I realize that maybe climbing this hill wasn't such a waste of time.

I pick up the same rock again, and launch it from my hands, sending it flying off the cliff, into the depths of the trees below. Then, in less than a minute's time, it flies back, and I have it in the palm of my hand again.

I feel the edges of my mouth form a small grin as I realize what I've just figured out. Seems like balconies aren't the only places for force fields.

Just as I'm about to throw my head back in laughter, laughter of finally outsmarting the Gamemakers, I hear the flurry of bird's wings and a very familiar scream, not so far away.

I feel my heart sink to my stomach as I realize whose scream that is.

"Maysilee!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for readers on this website, I'm mainly active on fanfiction.com, so here is the link to my page if you'd like:https://www.fanfiction.net/~iloveeverlark


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